


hallelujah

by wanderingcas (quiettewandering)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Episode: s05e22 Swan Song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiettewandering/pseuds/wanderingcas
Summary: The apocalypse is averted. Sam is in the cage. And instead of going to Lisa, Dean decides to help Cas put Heaven back together.Dean is adjusting to his new life, and his feelings for Cas, when he hears that Sam is roaming free in Hell. Dean and Cas work together to save the younger Winchester; even when he doesn't want saving.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 83
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wayward-dream](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=wayward-dream).

> hey everyone! this is a fic request I wrote for @wayward-dream I wrote a while ago, and I'm finally remembering to post now.
> 
> hope you enjoy :D

There’s rocks that are digging into his knees where he kneels in the dirt. His face drips blood and there’s a pulsing pain in his bones. 

He doesn’t care.

He just keeps staring at the ground where Sam disappeared: where it swallowed him whole and took Sam to Hell. 

Keeps staring at the proof of his failure to keep his little brother safe.

“Dean.” Cas’s voice looms over him. He doesn’t look up. He feels a gentle touch, barely there, against his forehead; the pain seeps from his face. 

“Dean, you have to get up.” 

Dean shakes his head. He just keeps staring. 

“Son.” It’s Bobby’s voice now, and Dean must have died somehow, because last he saw Bobby’s neck was snapped and he was dead. He feels a hand on his shoulder. “Son, get up.” 

Dean follows Bobby’s orders, even a dead Bobby, so he stands. Bobby is in front of him, looking very whole and alive. Dean frowns. “How—”

“Cas brought me back.” Bobby hooks his thumb over his shoulder at the angel. “Apparently he’s been promoted.” 

Castiel nods solemnly. “God brought me back for this reason.” 

“Huh. Peachy.” Dean glares down at the ground. 

“Dean. Sam made his choice,” Bobby says. He shakes at Dean’s shoulder. “He saved the world so you could live in it. Just remember that.” 

Dean doesn’t reply. He helps Bobby gather his things and pack up his truck. He promises Bobby that he’ll visit him soon, knowing full well that it isn’t true. He and Castiel stand side by side as they watch Bobby’s truck disappear from view.

“Guess you gotta go, then,” Dean says, gruffly, so there’s no emotion that leaks from his tone. 

“Heaven will need guidance,” Castiel agrees. “They need me there.” 

“Well.” Dean shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. He turns to look at the ground where Sam disappeared, and shoves down the sick feeling in his stomach, too. “You’d be on trend with everyone else so far.” His mom. His dad. Sam. They all leave. He’s barely surprised anymore.

But Cas… he’s always seemed constant. Hell, even Lucifer killing him didn’t make him stay gone. Dean had bugn to unconsciously rely on that steadfastness. But that was his mistake: he began to hope, and that only will make the sting of his leaving worse. 

Dean just stands and waits for that awful feeling to swallow him whole.

As usual, Cas has other plans. He reaches out; he takes Dean’s shoulder gently. “Dean. I want you to consider coming with me.” 

Dean feels his brain short-circuit for a hot moment. “What? Why me?” 

Tilting his head, Castiel asks, “Isn’t it obvious? You taught me the meaning of free willd. Even at the end, you were instrumental in Sam wrestling to get his control back from Lucifer and diverting the apocolypse.” 

Dean’s chest tightens; he stares down at the ground. He wonders how many years it’ll take to scrub that last image of Sam from his mind, before he tumbled into the ground. 

“Heaven could use your guidance,” Castiel continues. He steps closer to Dean. “ _ I _ could use your guidance.” 

Dean knows what Sammy would say: move on. Whether it be a stereotypical apple pie life, or a weird-ass one with the weird-ass angel he has a weird-ass crush on. Even if his choices mean he may not come back to Earth again, or see Bobby again, or even see Baby again. He knows, standing there, that he can’t just go home and drink himself to death like he wants to. He can’t just throw away Sam’s sacrifice like that. 

Even if, deep down, he knows he’s just being used as a tool again.

Dean scrubs at his eyes, that are still leaking like a damn broken faucet. He nods and looks at Cas. “Okay. I’ll do it. But, uh—” He puts up his hands as Castiel raises a finger toward his forehead. “Just—put my car somewhere safe, okay? Maybe Bobby’s, or something.”

Castiel nods. He snaps his fingers, winking Baby out of existence. “It’s done.” 

“Okay.” Dean sniffs; wipes at his nose. “Okay, I’m ready.” 

He swears Castiel’s eyes light up at his answer. “Good. There’s work to be done.” 

Cas grips his arm, and they vanish from the graveyard on the whoosh of invisible wings.

**. . . **

When Sam was barely eight years old, he fell off a slide in the playground. In hindsight, it wasn’t very tall; but the fall seemed to go on forever. He remembers, as gravity pulled him down, that it felt like he would never touch the ground. 

This descent into Hell, this endless fall: it feels a lot like that. Except with two extremely pissed off archangels also grappling with him, trying to tear him apart.

Michael, in Adam’s body, pulls at his arms, trying to break away. Sam holds on tight; he doesn’t know if letting him go would mean Michael could fly back up to the surface, so he hangs on with every bit of strength he has. 

“I’ll  _ rip you apart, _ ” Michael snarls with Adam’s face. He tries to kick at Sam; misses. 

Sam hangs on. He tries to tell Adam that he’s sorry, that he never wanted this for him. 

“You’re talking to a dead man,” Michael shouts. His eyes glow blue, ready to explode Sam with his grace. 

Sam feels a clawing inside him, of Lucifer trying to get through. Sam closes his eyes, trying to fight it; suddenly, something—no, Lucifer’s  _ grace _ , Sam realizes—bursts from his chest, slamming into Michael. Sam is flung into the wind, angling away from them, and he finally hits the ground. 

He lays on the ground, watching as the archangels land into the cage, beings of pure light that explode on impact. The bars hold against the flood of elecriticity that they emit. As beams of light, Lucifer and Michael continue to attack each other, lashing out and clawing. Their holy power makes the hellfire around them seem dim. 

Sam feels a clawing at his legs. Looking down, he sees amorphous shadows climbing up his legs, clinging to his body. He kicks at them. There are whimpering pleas that fill his ears, whispered threats, hissed curses. 

Sam scrambles away, but they hang on, becoming more solidified, and he can see that they are  _ souls _ , flayed raw and eyes completely black. They try to drag him with them. 

Sam’s mind blanks out with fear. He knows that he’ll be dragged into the fires if he doesn’t fight. With a final kick and shout, Sam tears free of them. He runs blindly, knowing he’s running straight into the darkness, but barely caring. 

He leaves the fiery cage behind him. He calls for Dean, even though he knows his brother can’t hear him. 


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel drops Dean in a park, of all places.

Not quite getting the hang of a landing yet, Dean falls right onto his butt as soon as Cas lands. He scowls up at the angel, who he swears has a hint of a smile on his holier-than-thou face.

“Why the hell are we at a  _ park _ ?” Dean demands. “One last joy ride on a swing during your time on Earth or something?” 

Castiel rolls his eyes. “No, Dean.” He points to the patch of sand that houses a twisting slide and swingset. “This is one of the secret portals to Heaven. It’s how we’ll be getting inside.” 

“Oh. Cool.” Dean straightens out his jacket. “Let’s go then.” 

But Cas just stands there, looking awkward—well, more awkward than usual. Dean’s hackles rise. 

“What? What’s the matter?”

Castiel grimaces. “There is a ‘catch’, as you humans might say.” 

“What kind of catch?” Dean asks, tone suspicious. “What didn’t you tell me. Cas?”

“I do not wish to kill you in order to get you into Heaven,” Cas says, “and you’re unable to become an angel. So… I will have to perform a spell.” 

Dean shakes his head. “No way, Cas. I’ve had enough spells and voodoo shit on me enough to last me a lifetime, okay? I don’t want any damn spell.” 

“Dean.” He walks closer to him, and has those damn baby blues looking all empathetic and shit; Dean’s biggest weakness. “I promise you, the spell will do no harm to you. And I don’t want you to die in order to gain access—”

“Big deal if I do,” Dean scoffs. 

“—and I  _ do not  _ want you to die,” Cas reiterates, tone pissy, eyes narrowed. “So this spell is our only option. It will work.” 

Dean sighs. His shoulders slope. “Well. What have I got to lose?” 

They wait until the sun dips down into the horizon; something about the spell being more effective at that time of night, as Cas explains. Dean has his suspicions that Cas just wants to be the dramatic bitch he is, and perform the spell under a full moon. 

It certainly  _ looks  _ elaborate, anyway. Cas spends the next two hours meticulously drawing an elaborate ceremonial circle in the dirt. It’s complete with Enochian symbols and other complex languages that Dean doesn’t recognize. Castiel reaches toward the back of his shoulders and pulls a feather from the dimensional plane that his wings are in. He hands it to Dean.

“Cool party trick,” Dean jokes weakly, taking the delicate feather. It’s soft in his palm. “Uh. What now?” 

“Kneel in the circle,” Castiel says. “I’ll begin the chant, and then the spell will begin.” 

Dean nods. His palms are sweaty. Carefully he situates himself in the middle of the circle, careful not to kick up any of Cas’s painstaking work. He looks over his shoulder at Castiel, who stands there looking a little worried. 

“This isn’t gonna hurt, right?” Dean asks.

Castiel doesn’t answer him; in a low, commanding voice that does things to Dean’s insides, he begins the chant.

At first, nothing happens. The circle continues to be a normal dirt circle drawn by an angelic lunatic. But then, as Cas goes on, the circle begins to shimmer. 

It’s subtle at first, with just a dim light outlining the symboles Cas drew in the sand. It gets brighter as the feather in Dean’s palm begins to shine a shimmering, diaphanous that illuminates Dean’s fingers. 

Without warning, the feather breaks apart. 

It breaks into hundreds of crystals that tumble through the air and gather into Dean’s palms like they have a mind of their own. He stares at his hands in awe as it pools into a molten silver liquid. It burns his skin. 

He looks up at Cas, feeling at a loss of what to do, but at the same time knowing exactly what he needs to do. Castiel, not stopping the chanting, nods. 

“Well. Here goes nothing,” Dean mutters. He takes a deep breath and brings his cupped hands to his lips. The silver liquid burns as it goes past his lips. He keeps drinking deeply, like a starving man in the desert, like his life depends on it. 

The liquid continues to burn as it goes down his throat, down to his stomach; he feels like his insides are going to collapse in on themselves. He falls to the ground, spasming, not able to control his movements. Cas just keeps chanting like a robot, not even looking at him. 

Dean wants to scream. Cas never cared if this spell killed him or not; doesn’t even care if he lives or dies. 

He curls in on himself. It hurts even more than Hell did.

Light pours from his mouth and eyes; he can’t see or hear or do anything but lay there. The pain pitches to a powerful roar, and then; 

Nothing.

. . . 

When Dean opens his eyes, he’s not in the park anymore.

There’s an endless darkness in front of him, expansive and spread out. Fear chokes him like a vice around his chest: it’s the same darkness he saw in Hell. The son-of-a-bitch Cas killed him, and Dean got slam-dunked back into Hell.

His eyes adjust, and he slowly he sees… something else. 

There’s a silver flash of lightning; the darkness lights up like a house on fire. Golden galaxies stretch out endlessly. White and silver nebulae swirl around him. The lightning streaks the darkness, splitting it in two. A rumbling indicates a storm coming. 

Another flash of silver light, and Dean sees that he’s not alone. 

It’s like Dean can’t focus his eyes on the figure hovering in front of him: it’s constantly moving, splitting in and out of existence like a static television screen. Its outline restlessly ebbs and flows in gentle waves. 

Even though it’s probably not a  _ smart  _ idea to go toward the bright light, Dean does anyway, pushing himself against nothing and floating toward the figure. As he gets closer, he realizes it’s not the pure white light that he thought: it’s pearlescent, colors streaking through the white. There’s a golden crown with fiery red and orange spikes flickering and dancing above its head. 

Wings, three sets of them and crystallized and glinting in the light, stretch out from behind the figure, wrapping around its own body. 

Dean gapes.  _ Holy shit.  _

They both hang there, Dean somehow floating in space, the figure’s wings flapping to keep him bobbing in space in front of Dean. The figure has no eyes, but Dean can somehow feel…  _ a look  _ on him. Like the creature’s complete attention is focused on Dean. 

After a few moments, he tries waving a hand in greeting. “Hey?” he tries to say. But his voice isn’t quite right; when he opens his mouth, light floods through and fills their little patch of the galaxy with sparkling warmth. 

“Holy shit,” Dean says, or would say, if that didn’t come barfing out like pure light also.

But somehow this makes the creature excited. It pulses excitedly, the outline almost completely blurring. The second pair of wings, ones that aren’t aiding the creature in flight, curl forward and reach for him. 

Dean winces, expecting more pain from the sharpness of those feathers. He nearly gasps when instead he feels softness brushing against his skin; somehow, his whole arm vibrates with warmth and fondness. 

Dean gapes down at the gentle feathers, transfixed. He can’t even remember how he  _ got  _ here… or what the hell that thing would be—

He looks up at the creature. It now glows a brilliant blue.

“Cas?” he asks, softly. 

There’s a moment of silence, of stillness, before the creature bursts into a swirling blue light. 

If it  _ is  _ Cas, then Dean’s never encountered this much…  _ energy  _ from him before. The wings and lights curl around Dean now in earnest; where Dean expects to be squeezed to death, he’s instead hugged by this odd pulsing light. He strokes his hand over the feathers in awe.

Something, a thought, a  _ presence  _ brushes itself against Dean’s thoughts, and he can’t even explain it, but yeah; this is definitely Cas. 

Dean sighs in relief. “Dude. You scared me. Where are we?” 

Cas pushes a thought back to him.  _ We’re in your soul. The spell has worked.  _

“My soul. Huh.” He’s not even going to dwell on how  _ that’s  _ possible. Dean scratches at a wing wrapped around his arm. “Is this your true form?” 

_ It is,  _ Cas says. _ _

“Well, uh. Don’t take this the wrong way, but, uh—you’re gorgeous.”

A light tickling at his brain; he thinks Cas is laughing.  _ Thank you, Dean.  _

Dean’s never felt this gentleness, this…  _ softness  _ from Cas before. It’s a complete twist from the stoic, pissy, trenchcoated angel he always sees. 

_ I saw your soul in Heaven,  _ Cas thinks at him,  _ but never got the time to admire it.  _

Dean would blush if he could. “C’mon, Cas—”

_ I know it embarrasses you, Dean, but; I’m honored to see it. It’s always been so beautiful.  _

He’s never heard Cas talk like this. Never felt this kind of warmth from him. Dean wonders if he’s hallucinating. 

The wings around him grow tighter; he swears they vibrate, like in a contented purr. Dean smiles, and because it’s his soul and no one can see, he leans into Cas’s true form just a little more, and rests his head where Cas’s shoulder would be. 

Hallucinating or not; this is the warmest, most content that he’s ever been.

_ We should go,  _ Cas finally says, and Dean feels disappointment clench his gut.  _ We have work to do. _

Dean nods and savors Cas’s true form and warmth for just for a minute before finally pulling away. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Let’s go.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sam can’t stop dying.

The first time he dies, he’s running from hellhounds. His feet are torn from the thorns that he runs over, and the darkness expands in front of him, a never-ending dark that he stumbles through without any sense of direction or awareness of what’s in front of him. 

He hears howling behind him, a mingling of hellhounds and the winds that whizz past his ears. He knows he can’t stop. He can’t stop. He can’t—

Moonlight suddenly washes over the ground; a tree is right in front of him. He slams into the trunk, falling to the ground. The hellhounds catch up almost immediately and he feels every agonizing tear and rip of his own flesh. He stares up at the moon through bare tree branches until the darkness takes him over again.

It’s the first time he dies.

The second time, he wakes up to his back against the wall, and Alistair is cutting Dean open on the rack. Dean is sprawled across it, organs bared, screaming for Sam. He tries to get to his older brother, but he’s shackled to the wall and can’t move. He watches in horror as Alistair cuts Dean up, bit by bit, feeding him to the snarling hounds. 

When Dean is nothing but pieces, the snarling dogs turn on Sam. 

The third time he dies, he’s crashing through a window, glass tearing through his skin. He knows he has to run, instinctually, or he’ll die. As soon as he hits the ground, he flings himself into a sprint. The trees in front of him will hide him, he thinks. He can climb one, and maybe—

A bite at his ankle. He’s pulled to the ground. The hellhounds rip him to pieces, bit by bit, like Dean was.

A fourth, a fifth, a twentieth time—he always dies. He always wakes up to a different scene, with hellhounds snarling at his back. He always runs. He always gets caught. He always dies. 

It goes on for hours. Maybe days. Maybe years. It’s like he’s stuck in this psychotic loop of waking, running, dying, and he can’t get out of it. Can’t make it stop. 

Until, on the four hundreth and fiftieth death, he stumbles into a creek. 

He stares down at the icy water running over his bare feet.  _ There’s no water in Hell,  _ some shred of his sanity says to him.  _ This is impossible.  _

The sound of huge, running paws reaches him; he closes his eyes and waits for the inevitable. The snarls of the hellhounds turn to whines. He opens his eyes.

A cloud of red smoke appears from the thin tendrils of water drifting in the creek. It strikes out to the hellhounds, killing them instantly. A curved figure forms out of the red smoke; it turns its head, and smiles. 

“Hello, Sam Winchester.” 

Sam stares at it—no,  _ her.  _ The figure has long, flowing red hair and a red-lipped grin. “Who are you?” he asks, voice scratchy from dying so many times.

“You know, you’re a  _ very  _ hard man to find,” she purrs. “Once I heard the rumors that you landed yourself in Hell, well, I just had to look for you myself. It took  _ years _ . But let me tell you it was  _ worth it _ .” She reaches out to pat his head in rhythm with her last two words.

“Who are you?” Sam asks again, teeth clenched. 

“Abbadon, sweetie,” she says with a wink. “And I got a little proposition for you.” 

Sam narrows his eyes. “What.” 

Abbadon leers toward him, black eyes gleaming. “Well. There’s this little issue called Crowley. He’s the king of Hell, which I’m sure you know; but he’s awful. He’s ruining everything. It’s time for someone new.” 

“What does that have to do with me?” Sam asks. 

“You and your brother are notorious for killing demons, right?” Abbadon flashes a white grin. “So all I’m asking you to do is… well, your job. Help me kill him.” 

Sam turns away from her, shaking his head. “No. I’m not getting involved with a demon. Leave me alone.” 

Abbadon whisks into red smoke again, appearing before Sam. She holds out a hand to his chest to stop him. “Now, hang on. Think about this with your tiny human mind. Do you know  _ where  _ in Hell you are?” 

Sam glares at her and says nothing. 

She sighs annoyedly. “O-kay, I’ll tell you. You, my dear, have stumbled upon the place in Hell where all humans are put: we demons affectionately call it the Valley of Endless Stupid Ways to Die. We like to come here and torture humans when we get bored, because you all can get killed over and over again and just come back all whole and ready to use again.” She taps his nose. “Now. There’s really no getting out of this valley. You’re trapped forever unless you have, well. Me. A ticket out of here.” 

“What do you get out of it?” Sam snaps.

“Who, me?” Abbadon puts a hand on her chest, her face dropping into an innocent expression. “Nothing much, really… Just the pleasure of owning a Winchester soul.” 

Sam says, flatly, “You want my soul.”

“What’s left of it, yes.” 

“Why? What good is it to you?” 

“Honey,” she says with a loud laugh, “you can do a  _ lot  _ with a soul. Especially one that’s as, well,  _ pure  _ as yours.” 

Sam turns on his heel. “Thanks but no thanks. I’ll find my own way out of here.” 

“One more thing,” she says. With a snap, she has Sam forced to turn around and face her again. Her eyes are predatory as she says, “I’ll make the deal even sweeter: once you kill Crowley, you can run Hell all yourself. For you, there’ll be no more torture, no more pain. Just Hell: exactly how you want it to be.” 

Sam breaks away from her. “ _ No _ .” 

Her face sours. “Fine. See how well you wear that pride, Winchester, after you die a thousand more times.” 

She winks out of existence. The hellhounds come back, snarling. Sam is ripped to shreds.

From that point on, his deaths get more elaborate and… creative. On the 640th death, he falls into a pit of snakes. On the 800th, Dean stabs him to death. His mother, with black eyes, tortures him for hours during the 1090th death. 

Each time he grows weaker. Each time he realizes, more and more: 

No one is coming for him. 

He’s not like Dean. He’s not a chosen righteous man. No angels will come for him; especially not one like Cas, who took one look at Dean and decided to be devoted to him forever. 

Dean, even if he found his way into Hell, wouldn’t even be able to find him here.

No one is coming, he thinks as a hellhound rips him to shreds for the 2000th time.

“No one is coming,” says a black-eyed demon as he pulls out Sam’s organs. 

_ No one is coming.  _

_ No one.  _

He lasts until the 3015th time. As soon as he wakes from his death, he calls for Abbadon. 

She appears in a cloud of red smoke, a satisfied grin on her face. Holding out her hand, she extends her fingers for Sam to take.

He steps closer; she grabs his chin and puts his lips to hers. 

There’s a burning in his chest as the last of his soul is ripped away. 

Sam couldn’t stop dying. But now he rises through the hellfire, out of the valley, no longer human; 

and lives. 


	4. Chapter 4

Heaven is worse off than Dean expected.

Ever since Chuck, the only mouthpiece for God, disappeared, the angels had been in a panic. They’re running around like chickens with their heads cut off, some of them scattered completely in the wind on Earth and not even tuned into angel radio. Some are just sitting in Heaven, mindlessly wandering, unsure of what to do.

Cas didn’t exagerrate: the place is a  _ mess _ . 

Dean’s entrance into Heaven caused a stir, though. Enough of a kick in the pants to get some of the angels woken up and feeling like there’s some sort of direction. Dean stood in front of a large group of angels anxiously as Cas explained that Dean was there to help him, to get Heaven back on track even with God gone.

“Dean can teach us free will,” Cas explained in a commanding tone. “He showed me ways of solving problems and fighting Hell’s devices in ways I could never have dreamed of. He is an important asset, especially with Crowley’s recent death, and Hell’s forces mounting against us.” 

“But he’s a  _ human _ ,” one angel calls out. “Humans are inferior. They can’t teach us anything.” 

“They can,” Cas argues, “more than we know. And Dean is different from any other human. He’s the righteous man. Appointed by God.” 

Dean shifts on his feet nervously. He doesn’t like the turn this conversation is taking.

“Appointed by God as a  _ vessel _ ,” another angel says. “Not as a leader of angels.” 

“You can see his soul as I can,” Cas says. “You can’t deny that it’s stronger, more vibrant than any other humans. Dean is special.” 

“Anybody would argue that their pet is special,” an angel at the front of the crowd sneers. There’s a clamoring of agreement. 

Cas falters; he looks at Dean in the corner of his eye. Based on his expression, Dean realizes that Cas didn’t expect to meet this kind of opposition. 

Dean takes a breath, and looks out among the increasingly loud and racuous crowd. Well. Now or never.

He pushes past Cas to stand in front of the angels; waves his hand in the air. “Hey, everyone. Listen.  _ Hey! _ ” Finally, hundreds of pairs of eyes stare at him. He clears his throat self-consciously. “Listen. I don’t expect you to trust me overnight. Hell, I don’t blame you; my brother and I—” Dean pushes down the sick feeling in his stomach, the one that’s always accompanied by thinking of Sam, “—we didn’t exactly make it easy on you guys during the apocolypse. But you have to admit, our crazy methods worked. The world didn’t end, and a full-out war was avoided.” 

“That war was prophesied.” It’s the same angel that talked first and roused the crowd in the first place. His thin lips are drawn tight and he glares at Dean. “We  _ wanted  _ that war.” 

“Well, you didn’t get it,” Dean snaps, “because two ‘inferior humans’ outsmarted you.” 

The angel’s eyes flash with blue grace. Cas steps forward, an arm in front of Dean. 

Dean puts a hand on Cas’s shoulder, a subtle ask for him to stand down. “Look. I’m not trying to tell y’all what to do. All I’m asking is for you to trust me. To just… give me a chance to make things right up here.” He looks at Cas, who is staring at him with the strangest look of admiration on his face. “To give  _ us  _ a chance.” 

The angels exchange glances. Most nod and murmur among themselves; they begin to file away. Dean doesn’t have any idea if it’s a good or bad thing. He looks up at Cas.

Cas gives Dean a hint of a smile. “Based on the angel radio, as you call it, most people are convinced by your speech. That was very good, Dean.” 

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Dean shrugs. “Just trying to give us a chance to help out, at the very least.” 

Cas’s smile widens. “I appreciate your attempts at helping my broken home, Dean. Truly.” 

There’s a weird warm feeling in Dean’s gut that he doesn’t really want to acknowledge. So he tries quickly to change the subject. “Hey, that angel that was being all pissy, the one at the front… who was that?” 

Cas’s eyes look over Dean’s shoulder; his face hardens. “Raphael,” he says.

“What?” Dean spins around to see that same angel standing inches away, a sour look on his face. “Oh. Hey, pissy angel.” 

Raphael’s eyes narrow. “I had heard humors that you’d lost your mind and joined powers with a human, Castiel,” he says, “but it’s even more ridiculous now that I’m seeing it with my own eyes.” 

“Watch your words, Raphael,” Cas growls, hand touching the hilt of his angel blade tucked into his waist.

“He’s a  _ human _ , Castiel,” Raphael spits. “He knows nothing of the intricacies of Heaven and the implications of leading anyone, much less an army of angels. This is ludicrus.” 

“I’ll help him,” Cas says. “He won’t be alone. And Dean is more adaptive and intelligent than any angel in Heaven.” 

Raphael tilts his head back and laughs loudly. “You’ve really lost your head, haven’t you?” He stabs a finger into Dean’s chest and sneers. “I suggest you watch your back,  _ human _ . Others are of the same mind as me, and we’re not going to let you ruin Heaven like you’ve ruined Castiel’s loyalties.” 

Cas steps in smoothly between them and grabs Raphael’s wrist, his eyes flashing a menacing blue. “Touch him again and I’ll cut off your hand,” he hisses. Dean gapes. 

Raphael’s sneer grows wider; with a flap of his wings, he disappears. Cas glares at the place where he was until Dean clears his throat. 

“Uh… he’ll probably be a problem, huh?” 

“Perhaps.” Cas adjusts the lapels of his trenchcoat. “I’ll keep my eye on him. For now, we have the majority of Heaven’s consensus on you aiding us. I wouldn’t worry.” 

Dean nods. He wants to thank Cas for having so much faith in him, for being so unflinchingly loyal about Dean’s abilities, but any words die in his throat. Instead he slaps Castiel’s shoulder and says with false bravado, “All right, well, let’s get this party started, huh?”

. . .

Days pass; weeks. And being in charge of Heaven gets easier. 

Dean suggests to Cas that their first priority is getting the angels organized. One by one they assign an angel to a station on Earth, with instructions to give weekly reports so they can keep tabs on each angel. Slowly the angels become more organized, and less anxious, now that they have tasks to do. 

Organizing it all, while keeping tabs on Earth, keeps Dean too busy to think about Sam. Even when they’re “off duty”, he and Cas fly down to Earth to hang out in Dean’s favorite bar or visit Bobby and drive his Baby for a couple hundred miles. It keeps his mind occupied. He’s grateful for that. 

“I think we need a new prophet,” Dean says. The idea hits him while he and Cas are eating lunch at Bobby’s (of course, now Dean has no need for food, being half angel and all, or  _ whatever  _ he is, but he still loves to eat). 

Cas looks up from the book he’s reading to stare at him curiously. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, think about it.” Dean stuffs a bite of sweet potato into his mouth. “Having a prophet was a helpful way for you guys to keep tabs on what might be coming up next. And Hell is being very suspiciously quiet, you said so yourself yesterday. Having a prophet would help to get us one step ahead of them.” 

Humming thoughtfully, Cas nods. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” 

“Are there any prophets left on Earth?” Dean asks after a bite of a roll.

“It’s impolite to talk with your mouth full, boy,” Bobby barks across the table. 

Dean gives him a face.

“There is one potential prophet that Heaven knows of,” Castiel says, ignoring the both of them. “His name is Kevin Tran. He’s quite young, though, which is why we hadn’t considered him as a prophet yet.” 

“We can at least meet him,” Dean says. He shrugs. “See if he’d be willing. I don’t want to force anyone into anything.”

“Nor do I,” Castiel says. He taps his fingers on the table. “It would be helpful to translate the tablets that Hannah’s garrison recently found in Lucifer’s crypt.” 

“Hell yeah it would,” Dean says. He drums his hands on the table excitedly and stands. “Let’s go find him.” 

“Not gonna finish your peas, huh?” Bobby says.

“Not that human anymore,” Dean says. “Don’t need that crap.” 

Bobby points a finger in Dean’s direction. “You’ll be back to visit soon?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean grabs Cas’s shoulder and grins. “Let’s go.” 

With a flash of an affectionate smile, Cas whisks them away, wind under his wings. 

. . . 

Cas lands him and Dean in front of a high school. Dean does a double-take as he regains his footing on solid ground. 

“Wait. He’s  _ this  _ young?” 

“I had thought that was clear,” Cas says. “Most prophets aren’t younger than the age of 20.” 

“Geez.” Dean chews at his lip and looks at the school hesitantly. “I don’t wanna put too much on the kid. I mean… he’s literally a kid.” 

“I have a plan,” Cas says, almost enigmatically. “Maybe a way to let him continue ‘being a kid’, as you put it.” 

“You? A plan?” Dean nudges his elbow playfully into Cas’s side. “I thought that’s why you hired me to run Heaven with you, so that  _ I  _ was in charge of the plans.” 

Cas side-glances a grin in Dean’s direction. “I do also have ideas sometimes.”

Dean mirrors the smile and sticks his hands in his coat pockets, settling back against the chainlink fence. They both watch the quiet, unassuming front doors of the school. 

“Dean, I wanted to ask you.” Cas pauses, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “How are you… doing?”

“Gotta be more specific there, Cas.” 

“I’d rather not be too specific, since it is a sensitive subject.” 

Dean blows a sigh through his lips. “Oh. Sam.” 

Cas grimaces. “Yes.” 

Shrugging, Dean aims for nonchalance. “How do I feel after my brother sacrificed himself for the world and is probably being tortured and killed over and over in a fiery hell hole?” He flashes a smile at Cas. “Just peachy.” 

“I’m sorry. It was a stupid question. I just wanted to say that—if you need me to do anything. Just let me know.” 

“What I  _ need  _ is my brother back,” Dean snaps. Why the hell is Cas bringing this up now? Months later? Did he suddenly grow some empathy? “If you can do that, then, well, we’re square.” 

“Square?” Cas asks with a squint of his eyes.

“Yeah. For me helping you fix up shit in Heaven.” Dean kicks at a rock on the ground. “But it’s not possible, so… forget it.” 

Cas raises his head as a bell goes off inside the school. He watches as students begin pouring out of the front doors. “With the new leadership in Hell, maybe it’s at a weak point. Maybe it would be possible.” 

“Cas—quit it.” Dean pushes himself off the fence and begins walking toward the school. “Stop getting my damn hopes up.” 

Cas hangs back for a moment until Dean hears a quiet sigh and footsteps following him. 

Kevin Tran is standing in a group of friends with a cello on his back, laughing at something a girl is saying. He looks at Dean and Cas curiously as they approach.

. . . 

After a lot of convincing (and trying to calm down Kevin’s hyperventilating when they tell him he’s a prophet of God), Kevin agrees to translate the angel tablet for them. 

Cas is true to his word: his plan to keep Kevin a normal, regular kid with translating Enochian as a side hustle works. Dean hires Garth to keep an eye on Kevin, and Cas places hex bags and sigils all around Kevin’s house to protect him. For extra protection, they have an angel check on Kevin every day in school. 

Dean is sitting on Bobby’s couch and frowning at the ground, fists clenched. Kevin is special, like Sam was. But no one offered Sam a normal life.

He stands and pings the angel radio (somehow he tapped into it a couple of weeks ago; a side-effect of slowly becoming more angelic, Cas had said), ordering Hannah to fly down. She appears in front of him in a snap, looking at him expectantly. 

“I have an assignment for you,” Dean says. “But you can’t tell Cas about it. Not yet.” 

Hannah nods, once. “What do you need me to do?” 

Dean takes a breath and forces his heartrate to calm the fuck down. “Gather intel,” he says. “Figure out who the new king of hell is. And if you can—” his fingernails dig into his palms, “—find out if Michael and Lucifer are still in the cage.”  _ Find out if my brother is still in the cage,  _ he doesn’t say.

“Understood.” There’s a sharp breeze as Hannah flies away.

Dean sits back on the couch and runs a hand through his hair. “God damn it,” he mutters.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s a quiet day, without any reports of demon activity or geographic tragedies, so Cas offers to show Dean his favorite place in Heaven.

Dean agrees, even though he knows full well Cas is just trying to cheer him up after their conversation in front of Kevin’s school the other day. If it’ll get the nerdy little angel off his back and stop trying to talk about his emotions, then so be it.

Cas leads Dean to a nondescript white door; opens it.

“Holy shit,” Dean says as he walks through.

It’s a bright, beautiful garden that expands through an endless forest of green. The temperature is literally perfect, and there’s a light breeze that brushes through Dean’s hair. He’s never seen grass this lush in his life, or flowers that brilliant.

Dean says to Cas, again, “Holy  _ shit _ . I didn’t even know Heaven had stuff like this.” 

Cas smiles. “Yes, Dean. This is an individual’s Heaven.” 

“Oh.” Dean feels momentarily dumb, until something occurs to him. “Hey, isn’t this like, trespassing or something? Two quasi-angels just barging in on someone’s Heaven?”

“There is no harm to it,” Cas says, “although it’s technically not allowed. But this particular Heaven is so expansive, the chances of us being seen are slim.” 

Dean sits on a stone bench that’s surrounded by tall sunflowers. “So, whose Heaven is it?” 

“I’m not sure the name of the individual.” Cas sticks his hands into his coat pockets. “It’s an autistic man’s Heaven. He loved gardens.” 

“Well.” Dean snorts and holds his hand out. “Obviously.” 

Cas tilts his head back to regard the blue sky. “I come here often to think,” he says. “And to remind myself that there’s beauty in the world. Beauty that humans can conjure.” 

“Nice to keep the perspective,” Dean says. He runs a hand over the cool stone of the bench. “Can the guy see his family, too? Or people that he knew on Earth?” 

Cas’s frowns. “No. People aren’t permitted to walk between other’s Heavens.”

“Well, that’s kind of stupid.”

“Why?”

Dean barks out a surprised laugh. “Really? You’re not getting this? I mean this Heaven is all well and beautiful, but it’s just him. Don’t you think he’s gonna get a little lonely after playing with forest animals for a couple of centuries?”

“He’s able to conjure any person he wants,” Cas argues. 

“That’s not the same, dude. He probably knows it’s not the same. How is that really Heaven?”

Cas stares at Dean; opens his mouth. Clicks it shut again. “I hadn’t thought about it that way,” he admits. 

“Humans need the people they love, that’s all I’m saying.” Dean pokes at a sunflower. “Otherwise, what’s the point of all this?”

Cas looks sad at this, so Dean decides to drop the subject. He slaps his legs and stands. “Let’s check it out, huh?”

They walk the permiter of the garden for hours. Cas patiently tells Dean the name of almost every flower in the garden, and the Latin name for every tree. Dean gets why this is Cas’s favorite place; after only a little while walking with Cas, Dean is already beginning to feel calmer.

“This is nice, Cas,” Dean says as they stand looking at an oak tree. He knocks his shoulder against Cas’s. “Thanks.”

Cas smiles. His mouth is open to reply, when a voice fills both Dean and Cas’s heads.

_ Report on new King of Hell,  _ Hannah buzzes in their brain.  _ The new King of Hell, after killing Crowley to succeed the throne, is Sam Winchester. Next orders? _

Dean and Cas stare at each other, unable to reply.

“Holy shit,” Dean says.

“Holy shit,” Cas agrees.

. . . 

“We have to go get him!” Dean says. He paces back and forth in their office, running a hand through his hair. “What are we gonna do, just sit here and do  _ nothing _ ?”

“An attack of that size would be enormous,” Balthazar says, hands raised to placate Dean. “Do you know how many angels that Michael arranged to drag you out of Hell?”

“This is different,” Dean says. “Cas knows Hell’s geography now.  _ I  _ know Hell. And we can just get in, get Sam, and get out. We don’t have to go knocking on the fucking front door.”

“Balthazar is right,” Hannah says. “Any journey into Hell will take many soldiers.” 

“Fine, then suit up!” 

“Dean.” Cas folds his hands over the desk, leveling him a look. “This will be a harsh battle. We’ll take many casualties. Not just on their side.” 

“I don’t  _ care _ ,” Dean says through gritted teeth. “I’ll do it myself if I have to, but I’m getting my brother back.” He flattens his hands on the desk and glares at Cas. “You can either help me, or not.” 

Cas holds his gaze for a moment before tearing his eyes away. “Fine. I will put together an army.” 

Balthazar sputters, “Cassie, what—”

“Dethroning a King of Hell is good for Heaven,” Cas says. “If it means getting back Sam Winchester to the Earth’s surface as well, then it’s a double win.”

Hannah sighs. “Raphael is not going to like this. There’ll be resistance.” 

“Let me worry about Raphael.” Cas nods at Dean and stands. “Let’s go.” 

. . . 

Cas gives Dean silver and golden armor to wear before they descend into Hell. He infuses grace into the metal, and Dean hears a cracking sound behind him, sharp like lightning. 

When he looks behind him, he sees the blue outline in the shape of wings.

“You can fly with them,” Cas explains as Dean experimentally wiggles them. “It’ll help you to keep up.” 

Dean reaches a hand through the feathers; his hand goes straight through. It feels cold, like dry ice. “Let’s try them out, huh?”

Cas nods. He flies out of view. After a few experimental flaps of his own wings, Dean follows.

Hell is exactly how Dean remembers it: dark, eerily quiet, and with the stench of mold clinging onto it like a bad suit. He lands next to Cas in a field of scorched, blackened earth and hears the  _ thump  _ of hundreds of angels feet landing behind them. 

It’s deadly silent, and they all just stand there. Dean clears his throat. “So, what now?” 

Cas holds up a hand. He seems to be listening into the distance. “To find Sam, the demons need to show themselves,” he explains in a hushed whisper. “The throne of the King of Hell is usually cloaked in shadow.”

“‘Cloaked in shadow’?” Dean snorts. “Okay, now this is just getting too Lord of the Rings.”

Cas shoots him a withering stare and asks pointedly, “Who has saved your soul in Hell before, successfully?” 

Dean tightens his lips into a pout and glares into the darkness ahead of them. 

It’s silent for another few, drawn out moments. Then, almost as if his eyes are playing tricks on him, something in the shadows begin to move. 

Dean squints. Definitely something moving. It’s slithering out of the ground, dirt pushing back, its head and shoulders and arms sliding into view. More begin to follow, until, in a blink of an eye, there are countless figures before them. 

“We’ll hold them off,” Cas says lowly to Dean. “You need to find Sam.” 

Looking up at Cas, he gapes. “How do I—”

“Look ahead,” Cas instructs. 

Dean does. Past the black figures and the darkness, he can see the outline of a nondescript, tall building of no more than three stories high settling into view. 

“That’s where Sam is,” Cas says. He slowly pulls out his angel blade, his eyes flashing blue. “Go find Sam. Once you do, pray to me. Then, I’ll fly you two home.” 

Dean grips his own blade tighter. “Okay.” He holds his breath as the figures begin to sprint toward them. “Okay.” 

“ _ Now _ !” Cas shouts, either to him or the angel army he doesn’t know, and in a flash he’s in the air, swiping at the charging demons. Dean sprints to the side and flings himself into the demon shadow army. 

A demon takes a swipe at him. Dean dodges, his pseudo-wings instictively flapping to give him more speed. He counterattacks with a stab of his blade into the demon shadow’s neck. One of the angels catches up with him and smites the demon for him, giving Dean a nod. 

Dean runs through the shadows, his blade or another angel helping to kill off any opposing demons. He wants to look back and see if Cas is okay, if he’s holding them off, but he also knows that Sam is in that building just a football field away from him. If he can just get to his brother, then he can pray to Cas—then they can go home.

Dean stabs another demon. Then he bursts through the front door.

He trips and falls into a great hall. There’s finally light in here, thanks to some innocuous lamps leaning against the walls. A huge, plush throne sits on a podium at the end of the hall. There’s a red-headed woman sitting in it, her long legs draped over the side of the chair. 

She regards him with a lazy smile. “Oh. You made it.” 

Dean holds his weapon higher. “Who the hell are you?”

“I didn’t think you would,” she continues, holding out her hand and examining her red nails. “But with that big bad wings of yours, no wonder you did. What a glow up.” 

“Where’s my brother?” 

“Oh, somewhere. I actually haven’t seen him in a while. He doesn’t love this throne as much as I do.” She pats the fabric lovingly. 

“You’re going to cut the bullshit,” Dean says through gritted teeth, “and tell me where my brother is, or I’ll cut your fucking throat out.” 

The woman clicks her tongue. “My, my. And I thought you were the lady’s man, but based on my observation, that is  _ far  _ from true.” 

Dean’s wings act on a subconscious volition. He launches himself toward her with a shout, blade poised. She waves her hand; an unseen force pushes him out of the way and flings him into the wall.

“Have to do better than that, Winchester,” she giggles.

Dean climbs to his feet, coughing from the blow. “Sam,” he tries calling. “Sam, where are you?”

The woman makes a sound of disgust. Raising her hand again, a lamp comes off the side of the wall and hovers above Dean’s head. “Really, you are so  _ annoying _ —”

“Abbadon.” 

Dean turns to where that wonderful, familiar voice came from. His whole body feels like it melts from the relief. There is his brother, standing there complete and whole. 

Abbadon pouts. “Really? You want him all to yourself?”

“I’ll take care of this,” Sam says. He nods at her in a clear gesture to leave. 

With a roll of her eyes, she slinks past him and runs her hand across the line of his jaw. “Make it quick,” she purrs. With a wink flung over her shoulder to Dean, she stalks out of the room.

“Sam,” Dean says, taking a step toward him, arms outstretched, “I’m so fucking glad to see you. Are you—”

“Why did you come here?” Sam snaps. The unaffected look he had for Abbadon morphs into a glare.

“To get you out of here, dumbass. Because you’ve gone off your  _ rocker  _ and became the king of hell. How did you even get out of the cage?”

Sam turns on his heel and begins to pace around the perimeter of the room. “I never was in the cage. I was in the Valley; that’s what they call it, anyway. Just dying, over and over. You’re probably familiar with it.” 

Something gets lodged in Dean’s throat. A rack flashes in his mind, and Alistair’s toothy smile. 

“And then Abbadon found me,” Sam continues. He looks at Dean. “Made me a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” Dean asks, voice unsuccessfully steady. “Sam, what did you do?”

Sam tilts his head. His eyes, usually brown and open and kind, turn to a flinty black. “What do you think I did, Dean?” 

“Fuck,” Dean gasps. “No.” He grips the hilt of his knife so hard it feels like his skin will crack. “No, Sam, you were supposed to fight it!” 

“‘Fight it’?” Sam’s face devolves into an ugly sneer. He steps toward Dean. “There was no fighting, Dean. It was this or let them torture me for an eternity.”

Dean backs away from Sam, step to match his step, toward the wall. “I would have saved you,” Dean says, but the words burn in his throat. “I was gonna help you, man, you just had to hold out a little more—”

“Really? You were going to save me? I know what you’ve been doing in Heaven. You weren’t looking for me. You weren’t trying to save me.” Sam gestures to Dean’s wings. “You were just playing dress-up with Cas. Pretending you’re some righteous angel instead of a crappy brother.” 

“Fuck you,” Dean spits. His back hits the wall. “You’re better off on the fucking rack than being a demon.” 

“Rich, coming from you.” Sam is in his face now, and there’s a blade that’s materialized in his hand. “You only lasted forty years on the rack. I lasted a  _ century. _ ” His blade whisks toward Dean’s face; Dean holds up his own and the metals collide. “And, unlike you, I became powerful. Not some demon’s lap dog.” 

Dean pushes Sam away. His wings beat the ground and he flies up into the air. “I don’t want to fight you, Sam,” he says. “Just come home, okay? We can fix this. Cas can find a way to—”

Sam throws his blade into the air right at Dean’s body; it grazes off of Dean’s armor. “You’re so stupid, you know that?” he yells. “Cas is using you, and doesn’t give a  _ fuck  _ about you. I’m the only one who gave a damn about your pathetic, whiny ass, and look at what you turned me into.” 

Dean grits his teeth. It’s the demon talking, he knows it. This isn’t Sam right now, but he’s there, just beneath the surface. He just needs to get him out. 

“Sam, please,” Dean says, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible. “Just try to fight it. You’ve been through Hell, okay? I know that. But just try not to give in. There’s hope, you just need to—”

“ _ Wow _ ,” Sam says with a long, drawn out groan. “Why didn’t I notice how  _ stupid  _ you sound while I was a human? You just never shut up.” He holds up his hand, like Abbadon did; Dean feels a force grab his ankles and yank him toward the ground. Dean feels that same force clench his armor and drain it of Cas’s grace. His wings disappear and he slams into the ground. 

Sam is on top of him, holding a blade aloft before Dean can scramble away. Dean grabs Sam’s wrist and stops the blade from going into his face. His brother’s face is red with fury, his eyes black and unseeing.

“After I kill you, I’m going to pluck the wings off that stupid angel of yours,” Sam hisses. “I’m going to make him look right at your body while I take his grace out of him, bit by bit, until he’s hellhound meat.” 

“This…. Isn’t you…” Dean grunts as he struggles with Sam’s arm. “Sam, just… don’t do this—”

“Don’t you get it? Sam’s  _ gone _ .” Sam leers into his face with a maniacal smile. “This is all that’s left, big brother.” 

The knife gets closer to his eye. Dean desperately looks at Sam’s face for something, anything; when all he can see is pure evil, something inside of him shatters. 

“Cas,” he grunts out. He closes his eyes, feeling the blade knick at his eyelid. “Cas, please—”

There’s a wind gust from a flap of wings; a burst of blue light as Sam is knocked off of Dean. Cas holds Dean’s arm and brings him up to his knees. 

“Sam,” Cas begins to say, but Dean touches Cas’s arm and shakes his head. Cas looks at Sam, getting up from the ground with black eyes and a blade poised to strike again, and understands.

Dean can hear Cas say over the angel radio, with a touch of grief in his voice,  _ Retreat _ . He gathers Dean close to his chest and spreads his wings.

Dean looks at Sam one last time through a blur of tears as Cas flies them away.

. . . 

Dean breaks away from Cas’s hold as soon as they land. He scrubs a hand over his face and screams “ _ Fuck!”  _ into the empty hallway.

Cas is breathing heavily. “That wasn’t Sam,” he says, voice wavering. “Not really. He was a demon, and—”

“He was a demon because he  _ chose  _ it!” Dean shouts. His fist collides with a wall; his fist goes straight through. “God fucking  _ damn it _ !” 

Cas takes a step back and watches with heavy shoulders. He waits for Dean to take his fist out of the drywall before saying, quietly, “We can fix him.” 

“Don’t you get it, Cas?” Dean rounds on Cas and gets in his space. “There’s no  _ fixing  _ him. Did you see him? He was a fucking maniac. He wasn’t Sam anymore. You don’t go back from being a demon and spending centuries in Hell. And  _ I  _ did that, Cas. I did that because he wasn’t even in the fucking  _ cage _ , and I didn’t go looking for him!” 

“You couldn’t have known—” Cas begins.

Dean takes the lapels of that ugly trenchcoat, and shakes him. “It’s my job to know, Cas! I’m his  _ brother _ . It’s my job to keep him safe, and help him, and instead I did the opposite and fucked off to Heaven with you to fix your broken family that can’t even be fucking  _ helped _ .” 

Cas works his jaw. “We’ve made great strides in rehabilitating Heaven,” he says woodenly. “Your help has been tremendous in—”

“I don’t give a shit!” Dean pushes Cas into the wall. “You don’t feel a goddamn thing, Cas, so you wouldn’t understand. But I abandoned him. I abandoned my brother. I should have been fighting tooth and fucking  _ nail  _ to get him back, but I didn’t. And that’s on me.” 

“You can still help him,” Cas says. “ _ We  _ can help him.” He reaches out a hand to Dean’s shoulder. “Kevin is making progress on the tablet, especially in terms of what it says about demons and closing Hell’s gates. We can work together to—” 

“No.” Dean shrugs away from Cas. He catches Cas’s crestfallen face before ducking his gaze. “Don’t touch me, Cas, okay? I just—I need to be alone.” 

As Dean expected, Cas doesn’t argue. He just nods and spreads his wings, disappearing in front of him. 

Dean slides to the ground and puts a hand over his face. In an unknown hallway in Heaven, dimensional planes away from his brother, he thinks about Sam’s black eyes and distorted face, and finally lets himself cry.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean shuts himself up in the guest room at Bobby’s house, and refuses to leave there for a week.

All his time in Heaven must be making him less human than he was before, because not eating or sleeping that whole week barely fatigues him. He just sits on the bed and stares at the adjacent wall, seeing the liquidy black flow into Sam’s eyes over and over again. 

Cas keeps trying to contact him via angel radio. Dean keeps ignoring him. 

Bobby keeps knocking on the door to coax Dean out with burgers and pie; Dean keeps ignoring him, too.

It’s not until he hears Kevin’s prayer that Dean decides to move. 

_ Hey, guys, can you come to my place? There’s something in the angel tablets that I translated that you’ll want to see.  _

Dean closes his eyes and lets out a sigh.  _ Should we check it out?  _ he asks Cas.

There’s a noticeable pause before Cas projects back,  _ Yes _ , and in the next second he’s in the bedroom with Dean. He looks no different from a week ago, apart from the obvious drooping of his wings. 

“Let’s go,” Dean says, holding out an arm. Tentatively, Cas takes it, whipping them into the sky.

Kevin is hunched over his kitchen table with the angel tablet and sheets of paper spread all over the place, hair wild and manic. “Okay, so get this,” he says to them as they land. “I’ve been reading in this subsection, okay? And something about ‘hell’ and ‘gates’ caught my eye, so I was like, okay why not check it out. And it turns out—” He reaches across the table and snatches a piece of paper, holding it in front of Dean’s face, “there’s a  _ very  _ interesting set of trials you can do in order to, wait for it—close the gates of hell.” 

Dean takes the paper and blinks at Kevin’s extremely bad handwriting. “What am I even looking at?” 

“The trials,” Kevin says. “There’s three. A human has to kill a hellhound and bathe in its blood, save an innocent soul from Hell and deliver it to Heaven, and cure a demon.” 

Cas looks over Dean’s shoulder at the paper and frowns. “Are you certain about this?” 

“100% sure. Basically, God built a series of tests, and when you’ve done all three, you can slam the gates.” Kevin rocks back on his heels and grins. “Pretty cool, huh?” 

Handing back the paper to Kevin, Dean shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. Angels would kind of be out of the job, but what the hell.” 

“You said the last trial is to cure a demon?” Cas asks.

“As far as I can tell, that was the translation, yeah.” 

Dean knows what Cas is going to say even before he does. Cas turns to him with those big blue eyes that are now lit up with hope and says, “Sam.” 

Dean shrugs, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “Yeah, maybe. It might work.” He asks Kevin, “Could someone like me do the trials?” 

“Unfortunately, it has to be someone fully human,” Kevin says with a grimace. “Not someone who can go between Heaven and Earth with no effect on them.” 

“Your soul remains in tact, but you aren’t exactly human anymore,” Cas agrees. 

Dean huffs a sigh. “Oh well. We’ll find someone eventually, maybe.” He hands Kevin back the piece of paper. “Thanks for the info, kid.” 

“Uh… sure.” Kevin frowns. “You’re not gonna—I don’t know—try?”

“Maybe. A lot going on right now. We’ll put it on the list.” Dean salutes at both of them and walks to the front door. “Later, guys.” 

He can hear Cas’s footsteps falling behind him moments later. He knows what’s coming, and steels himself for the dressing down. 

Dean stops on the porch of Kevin’s house to give Cas the chance. 

Castiel comes up to stand beside Dean at the railing looking out into the street. “I don’t understand.” 

_ Right on cue,  _ Dean thinks with a sigh. He leans his elbows on the white wood of the railing. “Drop it, Cas.” 

“Why wouldn’t we be exploring all avenues to—”

“I said to  _ drop it _ .” 

A tense, charged moment passes. Then Dean feels his shoulder being grabbed, and he’s being whirled around to face Cas. “All right. I’ve had it. I gave you your space, as I normally do when you’re upset, and haven’t pushed the subject. But now this has gone too far.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean says, pushing Castiel’s hand off his shoulder.

“I understand that you’ve been upset. I understand that seeing Sam in Hell was very hard for you. But now—this? Not even exploring a chance to save him?” 

“Cas, just—fuck off. I mean it.” Dean walks down the porch stairs, hands shoved into his pockets. He hopes Cas will get the picture. 

He doesn’t. Castiel is in front of Dean a moment later, hand held out. “I won’t let you do this. I won’t let you push away a chance to save Sam, a chance to  _ fix  _ things—”

“Oh, really? You wanna talk about fixing things, Cas?” Dean gets in Cas’s space. “What about you yanking my ass to Heaven when I could have been spending all that time  _ saving  _ Sam? What about you not being able to fix your own damn home yourself? I really don’t think you wanna be pointing blame on who’s fixing things or not, since you can’t even get your own damn house in order.” 

Dean can tell he hit a nerve. Cas’s eyes narrow, and all the emotion he had bleeds out of his face. “It was  _ your _ choice to help me with Heaven,” he says, stonily. “Yours.” In the next blink of an eye, he’s flown away.

“Fuck.” Dean kicks at a rock on the sidewalk, and tries very hard not to feel badly at pushing away the only friend he really has left.

. . . 

“What’s up your ass, boy?” Bobby grunts. 

Dean scowls at his plate and pushes a piece of steak to the side. “Leave it alone.” 

Huffing a sigh, Bobby shrugs. He snaps his newspaper in the air and pretends to act nonchalant. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with you and Cas’s domestic dispute, would it?”

“ _ Jesus _ ,” Dean says. He puts a hand over his face. “Will you just leave it alone, old man? It’s not your goddamn business.” 

“I may be old, but I ain’t deaf. I heard you two talking. There’s a way to save Sam, isn’t there?”

Dean pushes away from the table and slams his fork onto the plate, clattering ceramic disrupting the room. “I said to leave it  _ alone _ .” 

Bobby slams down his newspaper in response. “Are you really that stupid? You’re going to pass up a chance to possibly save your brother? What the hell is the matter with you?”

“Of course I want to save him,” Dean shouts. “But there’s no point in getting up hope for something that won’t fucking  _ work _ .” 

“Oh, you’re omniscient now, huh?” Bobby scoffs, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “All that time in Heaven and now you know exactly how the future is gonna turn out, is that it?”

“No, just—” Dean runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “There’s no saving what I saw down there, Bobby. Sam’s a monster. He’s past saving.” 

“No one’s past saving,” Bobby says. 

“That wasn’t Sam. And even if there was hope, I—” Dean can feel his emotions threatening, teetering him over the edge. He can’t break now. He puts a fist to his forehead and breathes through his nose. “I failed him, Bobby. I left him in Hell, all by himself, without even trying to save him.” 

“Oh, son.” Bobby’s voice has gone softer. “He told you to do that. You were just respecting his dying wish.” 

Dean sits heavily back into the chair and stares at the tabletop. “I shouldn’t have, though. I should have looked. I should have ripped hell open and fought tooth and nail to get him back. And now he’s—” Dean squeezes his eyes shut, can’t even say it.

“Dean.” Bobby reaches out, puts a hand on his arm. “Sam made his sacrifice. You couldn’t have known he was down there and able to be saved. But now you  _ do.  _ And you gotta take every opportunity to get that kid back.” 

Dean shakes his head; tears prickle his eyes. “Cas said I’m not even fully human anymore,” he grits out. “I can’t even do the trials.” 

“Then I’ll do ‘em,” Bobby says. Before Dean can protest, Bobby says, “You two are like sons to me. Gotta look out for my own. Let me do this.” He squeezes Dean’s arm. “Let me help you save him.” 

Dean sniffs. Asks the question he doesn’t want to even voice: “What if it doesn’t work?” 

Bobby’s eyes grow soft. “Then at least you tried, son.” He pats Dean and picks up his newspaper once again. “At least you tried.” 

. . . 

Dean finds Cas in his office, bent over a stack of paperwork. Cas lifts his head as Dean enters the room, expression guarded.

“We’ll do the trials,” Dean says without preamble. “We’ll close the gates of hell, and we’ll cure Sam. We’ll bring him home.” 

Cas nods once. Something in his expression softens. “We’ll bring Sam home,” he echoes. 

Dean stands for a moment, knowing there’s more he should say. More he should apologize for. Instead, he says, “Good,” and turns on his heel, shutting the door. 


	7. Chapter 7

Bobby completes the first trial the next day. 

Cas finds him a hellhound, and he and Cas keep watch as Bobby kills the hellhound and bathes in his blood. “Not the worse bath I’ve ever taken,” he mutters as he puts back on his trucker’s cap. 

The second trial takes a longer time, since according to Kevin, Bobby needs to deliver an innocent soul from Hell to Heaven. Dean waits anxiously on Bobby’s couch, hunched over and hands scrubbing at his face, as he waits for Bobby to return. Cas stands vigilantly by, watching Dean, but not speaking.

That’s something else they’re not doing a lot. Speaking.

Dean knows he’s hurt Cas’s feelings (well, whatever feelings he shows, anyway). But he doesn’t know how to explain how shitty the whole situation makes him feel. That he chose Heaven over trying to save his brother, and now Bobby is slowly getting weaker and weaker with the trials. Kevin had told them, solemnly, that the trials could kill Bobby. 

Bobby had just nodded and accepted it. Demanded they get on with it. 

When he finally returns from his second task, weak and stumbling, Dean catches Bobby in a hug and holds him there longer than he normally would. 

“For Sam,” Bobby wheezes. “Doin’ it for him.” 

Then, when Cas and Dean return to Heaven after putting Bobby down into his bed to rest, all thoughts of his broken family go flying out the window. 

They return to see Raphael waiting for them, a small army of angels at his side. They’re all holding weapons aloft, and they all look angry.

“Raphael,” Cas says, always cool as a cucumber, surveying the crowd. “What is this?”

“Consider it a rebellion,” Raphael says with a satisfied smile. “We’ve declared you insane, since you brought this  _ human  _ into Heaven, and now it’s time for the grown ups to take over.” 

Cas flips out his angel blade from his sleeve and holds it high. “To coin a human phrase I’ve learned on Earth, ‘bring it on’.” 

Dean’s heart melts just a little. He pulls out his own knife and points it toward Raphael. “I second that.” He whistles loudly, and a whole faction of angels appear behind him, headed by Balthazar and Hannah. Dean doesn’t even try to count how many there are on each side; he’d rather not know their odds.

With a snarl, Raphael flies forward, slamming into Cas. Suddenly prompted, both sides clash, going at each other with their angel blades. Dean stabs every angel that attacks him, not even able to give attention to where Cas ended up. He cuts through the crowd with slashes of his blade, trying to get to where he last saw Raphael attack him. 

Something knocks him to the ground; Dean falls into a defensive crouch, blade high. Raphael sneers down at him. 

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he snarls. His blade whips out to meet Dean’s. Dean pushes hard against it so that the blade doesn’t hit his face. 

Dean pushes up to meet Raphael in his face. “Ever get tired of being such a whiny bitch all the time?” 

Raphael stumbles backward. His face twists into a glare. “You have no  _ idea  _ how to use the power you wield,” he shouts. “You’re a child playing with a nuclear arsenal. I’m a soldier of  _ God,  _ you puny human. And you’re just an  _ ant _ .” 

Dean barely has time to think before Raphael is crashing into him again, knocking him to his feet. He grabs Raphael’s wrist as his blade is coming down toward him. There’s movement behind Raphael; Dean sees Cas running up to help. 

With a grunt, Dean throws his blade so that it whizzes past Raphael’s head. Cas catches it in the air and slams it into Raphael’s back. 

Raphael slams onto his knees. He looks up at Cas in shock. 

“Now you’re just my little bitch,” Cas declares. He takes the blade and twists. The light of his grace sparks out in Raphael’s eyes before he slams down onto the floor.

Dean gapes at Cas. “Holy shit,” he says.

Cas passes back Dean’s blade, giving him a shy smile, going from crazy murderer to adorable puppy in half a second. “I learned that from you,” he says.

Dean realizes, in that moment, that he’s never loved Cas more. 

. . . 

The rest of Raphael’s soldiers attempt to flee after he dies. Cas got the rest of the angels in order and was able to restore peace, tending to the wounded and imprisoning the angels part of Raphael’s rebellion faction. 

“It was bound to happen at some point,” Cas sighs, massaging his temples. “Raphael didn’t take well to you being here.” 

“He said I was wielding a power I didn’t understand,” Dean says. He sits down at the chair in front of Cas. “And then you said I wasn’t fully human anymore, so I couldn’t do the trials…. What’s happening to me?”

Cas folds his hands in front of him. “The spell I performed on you to get you into Heaven was to make you less human, so that staying in Heaven wouldn’t have negative effects on you. However…” 

“However?” Dean prompts.

Cas sighs. “However, it’s having unintended consequences. It seems that because you’re the righteous man, your body and soul are adapting in ways that I did not expect. You’re becoming an archangel.” 

“An archangel?” Dean scoffs. “How the hell is that possible?” 

“I’m not sure.”

“But I don’t even  _ want  _ to be an archangel, much less any angel. How do I—”

“The process isn’t complete,” Cas says quickly. “There’s still time to reverse it. However, reversing the spell would mean… you can’t be in Heaven anymore.” 

“Huh.” Dean chews at his bottom lip. “Well, if we get Sam cured, it won’t matter, right? I mean, there’s no way I’m gonna abandon my brother again. If he’s on Earth, so am I.” 

Cas bends his head for a moment; Dean wonders if he feels sick or something. Cas looks at him again with a stony face. “Yes. It won’t matter.” 

. . . 

A team of angel scouts steal away Sam from Hell the next morning for the third and final trial. 

They take him to Bobby’s house, tied up in the living room. Dean stands in the kitchen, fists clenched, as he hears Sam wake up from unconsciousness and begin to thrash and snarl at the angels in the room. 

“Dean.” Cas appears in the doorway. “Bobby is about to begin.” 

Dean takes a shaky breath and nods. “Okay.” 

“Are you sure you want to see this?” Cas asks. “Kevin warned us that—”

“Yeah, I want to see it,” Dean snaps. “I’m gonna be there for him, Cas. For both of them.” 

Cas nods, subdued, and steps out of the way as Dean walks through the door. 

Sam is strapped to the chair, thrashing, trying to get away from the binds. Bobby is in the corner, holding a cup of whatever it is that’s supposed to cure Sam, looking really unsure about the whole thing. Two soldier angels flank Sam side by side, ready to grab Sam if he makes a run for it. 

“Okay,” Bobby says, hesitantly. “Let’s get started.” 

There’s times during the trial that Dean wants to look away. That Sam’s screaming and crying and desperation to get away becomes too much for him to handle. He can barely even look at Bobby, getting weaker by the minute, getting closer and closer to death’s door. Cas stands silently at Dean’s shoulder, offering his usual steady and calm comfort. 

Finally, Sam’s head lolls to the side; Bobby collapses to the floor. The whole ground shakes beneath them, throwing things off Bobby’s bookshelves and toppling furniture. 

When the dust has settled, Dean looks at Cas for confirmation. Cas nods. “The gates of Hell have been closed,” he announces.

Dean would feel joy, if he could feel anything at that moment. He helps Cas untie Sam’s bonds and lay him on the couch. He looks at Bobby on the floor, lifeless. 

Dean tries hard to blink back tears. 

Cas puts a hand on his shoulder and says gently, “Bobby’s soul will be just entering the door of his Heaven. You can guide him there.” 

“I can’t fly,” Dean says with a cracked voice.

“You can,” Cas says. “You’ve probably been able to since the start of the spell. Just try.” 

Dean nods. He looks at Sam, pale and small on the couch. “You’ll keep an eye out for him?” 

“Of course.” Cas’s eyes soften. “We’ll be here when you get back.”

Dean sniffs and wipes at his nose with his sleeve. Damn thing always runs when he tries to not cry. With an experimental push of his back muscles, he tries to feel any possible wings there. Whether it’s the spell, his brain, or what, he just knows that somewhere on another plane his wings are spread and ready to go. With a flap of them, he flies. 

Bobby is standing in front of his door when Dean arrives. He looks healthier than he has in a long time. Dean lands beside him. “Bobby. Sam is—”

“Cured? Yeah, I know, kid.” He smiles wearily. “Wouldn’t be here if it didn’t work.” 

Dean feels the tears start to track down his cheeks; with Bobby, he’s never felt the need to hold them in. “Bobby, I can’t even—I don’t even know how—”

Placing a hand on his shoulder, Bobby smiles. “No need to thank me, kid. It was all worth it. You take care of your brother and make sure he doesn’t go falling into any hell holes, you here?”

Dean chokes out a laugh. “I’m gonna miss you, old man.”

“Hey, now.” Bobby swats at Dean’s face, wiping away his tears. “I saved your asses, now let me have some damn rest. Don’t be sorry about it.” 

Dean nods; he would say more, but his throat is constricted, and he’s unable to speak.

Bobby turns toward the door; stops. “I got one more request,” he says.

“Anything,” Dean says.

“I know losing Sam tore you up. And I know that you’re killing yourself with guilt for not going after him. But before Sam died, he made you promise to live a life you wanted.” Bobby levels a look at Dean. “I see the way you look at the angel.” 

Dean goes tense. “Bobby—”

“And before you knew Sam wasn’t in the cage, you seemed to be having a good life. With him.” Bobby shrugs. “I’m just an old man. A dead man, for that matter. But I know that Sam would want you to be happy. And that whatever you choose, he’ll understand. So, my request is this: stop being an ass to yourself and ask what it is you  _ really  _ want.” 

“I—” Dean cuts himself off. He squeezes at his fists and sighs. “Okay, Bobby. I’ll try.” 

“That’s all I ask, son.” Bobby takes a steadying breath and turns toward the door. “Okay. Here we go.” 

As Bobby pushes open the door to his Heaven, his face melts into a genuine smile. Dean peeks around the corner and sees a kitchen, brightly lit with the afternoon sun filtering through the windows. A woman turns around from where she’s cooking at the stove and gives Bobby a wide smile. Karen. 

Dean watches as Bobby walks into the kitchen with a cry of joy and picks Karen up, spinning her around. It’s the last thing he sees as the door quietly shuts, leaving Bobby to his peace in Heaven.

“You deserve it,” Dean whispers to the wood of the door. He brushes the last of his tears. With another flap of his wings, he flies back toward his brother. 


	8. Chapter 8

As soon as Dean lands, he knows something is wrong.

The two angels that were with Cas and Sam are gone from the room. Sam is still lying on the couch, unconscious. 

Dean steps into the middle of the room, scanning all corners. “Cas?” he calls tentatively. 

He doesn’t know how to explain it, but he  _ senses  _ the attack before it even happens. As if in slow motion, he sees a red blur out of the corner of his eye. He whips around to avoid it, pulling out his angel blade in the same fluid motion to strike at the attacker.

Everything snaps back into action. He crouches on the floor in a defensive position and holds his blade high, looking at who attacked him. “Abbadon,” he spits out.

“Hello, Deanie,” she croons. She’s slightly out of breath. Flipping back her red hair, she says, “Well, isn’t this a pickle. You’ve cured the one king of Hell I’ve ever had my claws in. Your brother and I could have done a lot of gorgeous damage, you know.”

“He’s not yours,” Dean spits out. “And I’ll kill you if you try to touch him.” 

“You’ll probably be as successful as your angel lackies,” Abbadon scoffs. “And that stupid angel partner of yours. Who is he again? Your husband?” 

Dean clenches the blade tighter. “What did you with Cas?” he asks through gritted teeth. 

“Took care of him.” Abbadon casually regards her fingernails. “Now I’m going to slaughter your brother, too. Just like I slaughtered your pathetic grandfather all those years ago. After killing one Winchester, it shouldn’t be so hard, right?”

“You know what?” Dean straightens and coils his muscles to strike. “I’m pretty fucking sick of you talking.” He strikes out his blade without warning; there’s a flash of fear in her eyes as she stumbles backward to avoid the blow. 

Her eyes flicker black. She lashes out at him, her red nails swiping across his face. He slashes his blade in turn and cuts her arm. They deal blows back and forth to each other, neither getting the upperhand. She somehow gets the best of him by delivering a kick to his chest; he stumbles backward and knocks into the wall. 

He breathes heavily, in and out, and holds himself up by one hand. He may be half angel, but he can’t defeat a demon. Not with Cas hurt— _ or killed _ , a treacherous voice whispers in his head—and his brother in some kind of coma, not with all the cards stacked against him and nowhere to turn. 

Abbadon advances on him, a sneer on her face. “Oh, yes, this will be fun,” she purrs. 

Dean holds up his blade, pathetically, knowing it won’t do any good. He’s so focused on her coming toward him, that he doesn’t see a familiar figure in the back. 

Sam pounces on Abbadon before her or Dean can blink; he holds her arms, and yells, “Dean,  _ now _ !” 

Not even giving the surge of joy he feels at seeing his brother a thought, he pushes himself off the wall and runs toward Abbadon. The same instinct as before has him raising his hand to her forehead before he understands what he’s doing. A surge of sheer power runs through his hand, out of his palm, and into her forehead. She screams and her eyes flash as the demon is smited out of her, the black ooze traveling out of her mouth and disipating into the air. 

Sam lets go of Abbadon’s arms. Her body falls to the floor. 

Dean and Sam stare at each other over her body, breathing heavily. Sam moves first; his face twists in that telltale way before he’s about to cry. “Dean,” he begins. “I—”

“Don’t,” Dean says. He steps forward and grabs his brother into a firm hug. He can feel Sam’s arms wind around his shoulders and grip him tight. “You’re home now,” he says. “That’s what matters, okay?” 

Sam nods against his shoulder. He can feel Sam’s tears seeping through his shirt.

Dean blinks back a few himself.

He pulls back from Sam, his hand on his brothers shoulders. “Sammy, did you see Cas? What did Abbadon do with him?” 

“I don’t know,” Sam says, helplessly. “I only woke up a minute agot. I’m sorry.” 

Dean has a very terrible feeling in his gut. He lets go of Sam and walks through the kitchen, wildly looking around. It’s not until he walks out into the yard that he senses Cas’s grace, faint and small, somewhere in the bushes. 

He finds Cas’s body lying face down in the grace by Bobby’s roses. 

“Cas!” Dean sprints to him and turns him over. “Oh, shit,  _ no _ .” Cas’s face is twisted in pain, and grace is seeping from a wound in his stomach. “Shit! I can’t—no, Cas, stay with me. Stay with me, buddy.” 

Cas’s eyes blink open. They’re foggy with pain. He pats at Dean’s arm, weakly. “Dean. I need—”

“What? What do you need?”

“I need to apologize.” 

“Bullshit, why the hell do you—just stop talking, okay? I’ll go get help. I’ll go—”

“Dean.” Cas grips his arm more firmly. “I’ve been selfish. I’m sorry for taking you to Heaven, away from your brother.” His eyes flicker away. “I let my emotions get the better of me. I’m sorry.” 

“Cas, shut your goddamn  _ mouth _ ,” Dean grits out. He shakes Cas’s shoulder as his eyes slip shut. “No, don’t you dare. Don’t you  _ fucking _ dare.” 

“Dean.” Sam comes up behind them. Dean turns a hopeless look to his brother. “Sammy, I don’t know what to do.” 

“Heal him,” Sam says, crouching beside him. “You have the grace. You just smited Abbadon.” 

“I don’t—” Dean looks helplessly at Cas’s unconscious body. He puts a hand over the wound where Cas’s grace is leaking. 

And he thinks about Cas. 

He thinks about Cas’s eye crinkles when he smiles. About his favorite place in Heaven to visit, how peaceful it was. About his true form, and the gorgeous way it shimmered when Dean touched it with his soul. He thinks about Cas’s rarely heard laughter, his loyalty, his dedication, how the very essence of him is gorgeous—

How Dean couldn’t live without him. 

_ Don’t make me go on alone, Cas,  _ Dean thinks at him as he feels power leaking through his palm, stitching Cas whole.  _ Don’t you goddamn make me.  _

Cas’s eyes fly open. He inhales a raspy breath. Blinking up at Dean and Sam, he sits up. “Dean. Sam. What—”

“Oh, thank  _ god _ ,” Sam says with a weak laugh. 

Cas looks at Dean. “You healed me.” 

“Uh, yup.” Dean awkwardly waves a hand. “I have grace now. Or something. Guess the spell is getting more complete.” 

Cas stares at him for another moment. His hand touches Dean’s shoulder in an unexpectedly gentle touch. “Thank you,” he says. “For healing me.” 

Dean swallows around a lump in his throat. “Thanks for helping me get my brother back,” he says. 

When Cas smiles, it’s radiant like the sun. 

. . . 

They leave Bobby’s house after Sam fully recovers. 

Sam had heard Abbadon’s declaration about killing their grandfather, so, in typical Sam fashion, he does some digging. He excitedly informs Dean over breakfast that their grandfather Henry Winchester was part of the Men of Letters, and their hideaway bunker is in Kansas. 

In further typical Sam fashion, he manages to find it right away. 

Cas stands at the top of the circular stairs (it’s as far as he can go because of the hidden angel wardings in the bunker), watching with a blank expression as Dean and Sam excitedly explore the bunker. Once Sam finds the library, it’s all over, so Dean goes up to stand with Cas. 

“We can find those wardings,” Dean says. “Get rid of ‘em so you can come in.” 

Cas nods. “They aren’t very strong; if they were, it’d work on you too.” He frowns. “The time for reversing the spell is almost gone. If you want to reverse it—”

“Yeah, I don’t—” Dean sighs. “I don’t know, Cas. Sam’s here, and—”

“No, I understand.” Cas stares down at his shoes. “It was always a possibility, Sam’s return. And while I’m extremely happy he’s back…” He shakes his head. “It’s not of import.” 

“Yeah it is,” Dean presses. “What are you thinking?”

Cas turns to him, and that damn blank face is back. “Please pray to me when you are ready to reverse the spell,” he says. “You have two days to do so.” Before Dean can say anything else, he’s gone.

Sam runs back into the foyer. “Did Cas leave?”

Dean nods, still staring at where Cas disappeared.

“That’s too bad. I wanted to tell him my idea.” Sam runs up the stairs to Dean. “What if I made this bunker a research center? It has  _ tons  _ of books here. It could be a base of operations for hunters—for Garth, for Krissy, for everyone we haven’t met yet. And we could run it, and settle here. Make a life instead of always being on the road, you know?”

Dean nods again; his mind feels far away.

“Dean.” 

Dean blinks, looking at Sam. “Yeah?”

“You’re… You’re staying, right?” 

With a sigh, Dean runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Sammy. Heaven is still a mess up there. There’s still so much to do. It needs me, and—”

“You mean Cas needs you,” Sam interrupts. 

Dean opens his mouth to protest, when he hears Bobby’s voice— _ ask yourself what you  _ really  _ want.  _ He sighs. “Yeah. And I need him.” 

There’s a flicker of disappointment over Sam’s face before it smooths out. He puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Then go. Seriously. I’ll be all right down here.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asks. “I abandoned you once, man, I’m not gonna do it again.”

“This isn’t abandoning me, Dean.” Sam smiles. “This is going after what you want. But don’t go vanishing on me completely, all right?”

Dean grins. “You know you’re the best brother in the world?”

Sam shrugs, and grins. “I try.” 

“I just gotta tell Cas,” Dean says. “But I’ll be back. Tonight, even. Burgers and fries sound go?”

“Are you trying to make me die  _ again _ ?” Sam groans, as Dean bursts into laughter.

. . . 

Dean finds Cas sitting in their office, blankly looking at papers spread out on the desk. He lifts his head with a surprised look as Dean comes into the room.

“Dean. What are you doing here?”

It’s now or never. If he doesn’t do it, he’ll lose his nerve. No going back. Dean keeps striding toward Cas. 

“Do you want to reverse the spell now? I can get it started. I just need—”

Dean stops in front of Cas and says, over him, “I don’t want to reverse the spell.”

Cas gapes. “What?”

“I said, I don’t want to reverse the spell.”

“You mean—”

“I want to stay here in Heaven.” Dean reaches out to hold Cas’s wrist. “With you.” When Cas just stares at him, Dean adds, hesitantly, “If that’s, uh… if that’s okay.” 

Those eye crinkles that Dean loves so much appear on Cas’s face as he breaks into a smile. “Nothing would make me happier, Dean.”

Dean grins back.  _ Now or never _ . 

Gently, he holds Cas’s face into his hands, and brings their lips together. 


	9. Epilogue

Heaven is under a new order.

Under Dean and Cas, the angels have guidance again; they are once more shepherds and guardians of the humans on Earth, no longer meddling in Earth’s afairs unless sent there by Dean and Castiel. 

Dean and Castiel visit Earth often over the years to see Sam, and visit the bunker where he’s reestablished the Men of Letters’ presence in America. He’s even started an academy at the bunker, helping the next generation of hunters to be more prepared for supernatural entities. 

After meeting Eileen, Sam retired from hunting altogether (much to Dean’s relief). He and Eileen grew old together, and when they died peacefully, Dean and Castiel escorted them personally to their own Heaven. 

He misses his brother, sometimes. But whenever he does, he and Castiel sneak into Sam’s Heaven to spend time with him and Eileen, who are there together permanently. 

His family is safe and happy now. Hell is no longer a problem. And Dean has all of eternity to spend with the love of his life.

It’s not perfect, but it’s the closest he thought he would ever get; 

and he’s happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading, and thanks so much to @wayward-dream for requesting this fic. it was really fun to write :))


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